David Weber - The Road to Hell

Emperor Chava, called the greatest Busar to hold the name by his scions in the Court of the Uromathian Empire, possessed the combination of attributes necessary to hold together a disparate empire through personal charisma and fear. Unfortunately, he clearly saw no reason to acquire any other attributes…or create a regime which could be held together by someone who lacked his own “gifts.” Indeed, he’d dismantled-or allowed to atrophy-any tools or institutions which stood in the way of his preferred governing technique…and none of his sons and nephews possessed those skills. Nor were any of them a Calirath to hold the loyalty of an empire through the sort of personal courage and devotion to country that inspired so much patriotism in Ternathia’s subjects. In part that was Chava’s own fault for executing a few consorts who’d shown signs of excess independence, but the end result was ominous to consider. The possible heirs to the Uromathian Empire were all cruel enough to match their father, but none inspired the loyal following the current emperor did, and King Junni’s assessment was that none of them would be able to do so, even if Emperor Chava eventually selected just one as heir and set to training him properly.

Not that Chava gave any signs of doing any such thing. The brood currently ran wild between periods of banishment or genteel confinement, seemingly arbitrarily applied. The view from Eniath provided Howan Fai with plenty of details about their various excesses, and he knew only too well how they’d modeled their behavior on their father’s example. That would have been bad enough under nay circumstances, but it was even worse because none of them seemed to recognize their father’s internal discipline. Chava Busar was a ruthless, unscrupulous, vile, utterly amoral human being, without a trace of pity or compassion and much given to personal excess-the sort of man who never forgot an injury and would wait decades, until the time was ripe, to avenge himself. But, give Kraisan his due, he would wait. He understood the need to work, plan, and discipline even his own inner furies. His sons did not.

And that was the true reason Chava’s example of adopting any strategy or using any tool-no matter how hideous-had made this current Unification Treaty all but impossible. Even Chava hadn’t planned it that way, and some of the daughters were reasonably rational. He’d seen a use for them and ensured they were raised to be both deeply loyal and reasonably attractive to allied powers (which meant being at least a few strides short of outright insanity), and Howan Fai suspected Prince Janaki would have been more than up to the task of managing his own household. The sons were a very different matter, unfortunately. It was they who were contenders for the throne of Uromathia, so it was they who were encouraged in excess and feral appetites by their father’s example and the nature of the court he’d built.

Somehow the new Empire of Sharona would need to find a way to stabilize and restore the Uromathian Empire even as Chava continued to rule it. It would be too late to restore it after his death, but finding some way to accomplish that impossible task with Andrin married to one of Chava’s sociopathic sons…

Howan Fai shuddered at the thought. She’d need guards to protect her from her husband as well as from her enemies.

Or from her other enemies, at any rate. And once an heir was born…

One small signet ring seemed such a paltry tool to begin a campaign to save an empire. He hoped it would be enough.

Crack!

Finena, talons grasping the edge of the still open window, flapped strong, broad wings to stay a moment on the sill. Then the imperial falcon gave a great push with those same wings and lifted away.

The ring lay on the tile floor just inside the window, jade fractured clean through. What did it mean? Was the cracked stone a sign from the crown princess? Or had it broken only when the ring dropped from the window to the floor?

King Junni twitched his overrobe quickly to settle in a flare over the ring, but it was too late.

Both the footman and the youngest maid stared at that corner of the king’s robe and silence hovered for a long, still moment. But then banged fists on the doors startled everyone, turning them quickly towards the palace hall. Munn Lii flung open the door with Rokel Lii ready to shoot or skewer anyone who threatened to enter unwelcome.

A pair of Imperial Ternathian Guardsmen stood there, and other similar knocks echoed down the hallway.

“Your pardon Your Majesty. And yours, Your Highness.” The guard bowed to both of them. “Some miscreant has attempted to injure an imperial falcon. If you’ll allow a speedy check of the premises, we’d like to ensure the troublemaker didn’t use this apartment.”

Rokel Lii stepped back and translated quickly for King Junni’s benefit.

The footman and maid exchanged quick glances.

“There weren’t no birds here, guardi.” The maid offered a quick curtsy with her lie.

The second guard flinched. Probably a Sifter, Howan Fai guessed.

“Quite. Exactly as she says, guardis. We didn’t see any falcons here.” The footman volunteered, making a small bow of his own.

Howan Fai thought the second guard’s left eye was beginning to water. It was either that or the man had developed a sudden and unexplained eye twitch.

King Junni gestured for the guards to enter and spoke Uromathian flatly to Rokel Lii.

“Tell them I offer any bird that comes to me the remains of a fine meal, as is custom in Eniath for good luck. No harm has ever been intended.”

Rokel Lii didn’t have a chance to speak before one of the guards replied in the same language.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, then cast a glance back down the hallway as the sounds of angry shouting drew closer.

Both Guardsmen stepped quickly inside and two others appeared, bracketing a florid-faced Uromathian in heavily jeweled cloth-of-gold festival dress. The man looked more ready for a coronation than a Conclave.

“Prince Weeva of the Busars.”

He introduced himself, and rudely poked a fat finger at the ribs of the closest Imperial Guard.

One of Chava’s special police did trail the little party, as well, dressed in the brilliant crimson imperial uniform with father-of-pearl hilted pistols on each hip. But the specialist showed no interest in restraining his emperor’s son.

Prince Weeva was the fourth acknowledged son of the Uromathian emperor, child of a now deceased courtesan, and Howan Fai examined him critically. Weeva-they all adopted a “va” suffix to honor their father-was considered the most attractive of the emperor’s boys. Which, in Howan Fai’s opinion, wasn’t saying much. True, the black hair almost matched Andrin’s but it lacked the fine gold strands. And the sneer was most definitely unattractive.

“Dogs.” Weeva spat the pejorative Uromathian term for police and snapped his fingers. “I told you I saw the cutcha’s bird being lured down here.” He pointed a finger at Howan Fai. “That one. The Eniath princeling did it. The coat sleeve was colored just like that.”

The staff held complete silence about the recent change in King Junni’s overrobe, and Howan Fai saw the maid slip farther back into the apartment out of line of sight from Prince Weeva. Reputations had been earned in the Grand Palace already, he noted.

“That hasn’t been established, Your Highness.” The Guardsman behind Weeva tried to soothe him, while the ones who’d arrived first all but locked shoulders to prevent the Uromathian prince’s entry.

“Understandable. You’re just a dog who doesn’t speak the Tongue of Emperors.” Weeva lifted an eyebrow at King Junni. “Even if your version is horridly bastardized. I can almost smell the rotting fish guts every time I hear an Eniathian speak.”